


Don't Look Back In Anger

by Hicburgli, radiobread



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: 90'S, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Chiaotzu is WILD, Death, Drug Use, F/M, Suicide, Yikes Yamcha, basketball team, krillin is on the dance team, lots of bad music and bad references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:03:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12028698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hicburgli/pseuds/Hicburgli, https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiobread/pseuds/radiobread
Summary: "You have met me at a very strange time in my life." He said. Brushed a strand of hair out of the way of her face. "That was a fight club quote." He whispered."You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me." She said, leaning forward to softly speak in his ear. "That's also a fight club quote."(A moderately fucked up 90's High School AU, co-written by Hicburgli and Radiobread)





	1. About A Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, here it is! This is looooosely based on an RP we did (maybe after watching 10 things i hate about you too many times, but that's not for you to know) so fair warning, this is about to be...fairly different? A tad OOC? (it's the 90s, c'mon). Whatever. It'll be fun. Drifts from canon a fuck ton, so woo. Cheers to what will probably be a bumpy ride. -Radiobread
> 
> Howdy, this shit storm is the farthest we could go from canon, but sometimes Vegeta just needs to let loose I guess? There's a lot of lame references because we get inspired by the weirdest things. It's fine? I think? Anyways, have a good time, shit's fucked up. -hicburgli

**By Hicburgli**

**January, 1996**

Ten years. Longer than most relationships. It gives you enough time to know every nook and cranny of someone’s brain. Their fears, their wants, even as far as their allergies or their first kiss in from the third grade.

Bulma, though unfortunate, was one to know any one of those notions when it came to Goku. The fear? Cockroaches. The want? To play as the captain of his dream college’s basketball team. The allergies? Peanut butter and coconut. And his first kiss from the third grade?

“Hey Chichi! What’s up?” Bulma answered her phone with a chipper tone, excited to hear from her friend, who was currently at a party with some friends. Obviously, Chichi was Goku’s first kiss. Opposites attract, they say. And they’d been together since. Part of Bulma knew that they’d last for good. Sometimes you just have that feeling when you meet someone. And sometimes it just develops over time. Love was crazy, and overrated.

“It’s not Chichi, silly!” Bulma heard the familiar yet slurred voice on the other end, and she sighed. Heavy.

“Goku…” She began. “Why do you have Chichi’s phone? What’s going on

“Bulma! Bulma! It’s so important! I swear!” He yelled into the phone. She recoiled and held the phone away as she silently cursed at him for breaking her eardrums. 

“What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“I’m awesome! I’m-” And then he burped. Loud enough to where Bulma could practically smell it from her side across town. “I’m a little drunk, to be honest.”

“Goku!” Bulma yelled into the phone. “Do you know how irresponsible that is?” This was partly due to her actually genuinely caring about Goku’s safety, but otherwise, it was about how she was still a little bit peeved she didn’t go to the party at Krillin’s uncle Roshi’s house. Roshi tended to go out of town quite a bit on old people cruises in the bahamas, so this gave Krillin the time to throw parties. But since a messy breakup with her most recent boyfriend, Bulma had taken her time away from the house, from her friends, and especially Yamcha.

“Listen, Bulma!” Krillin’s voice sounded in the phone. “Listen, listen-”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay listen harder.” Krillin persisted, clearly intoxicated as well. “We’re all kind of wasted here.”

“I can tell.” She responded, very much not amused by this behavior. But Goku was like a little brother to her. She wouldn’t let her discomfort cloud her need to protect him. “Yeah yeah, gimme thirty minutes, I’ll be right over.”

“Wait.” Goku was back on the phone. “Who is this again?”

And then she hung up. Of course everyone there was too fucked up to help Goku. She didn’t even know if he’d ever been drunk before. And so after primping for a minute, she hopped into her car, speeding off to the Roshi residence, ready to both feel uncomfortable, and to beat whoever gave Goku that alcohol.

“You got Bulma?!” Yamcha asked, annoyed as he scratched his head.

“Well, yeah!” Goku responded, laying on the couch.  “She’s always helping me out!”

“What a good host, Yamcha. Getting the youngest one drunk.” Tien said over a glass of whiskey, not quite as hammered as the others, but certainly under the influence of other things. “What happened to being friends with her?”

“We’re friends!” Yamcha argued. “We just… have been taking some space.”

“For three months?”

“Fuck off.” Yamcha took another swig from some Boor’s Light, shrugging. “I’m not a baby, I can handle myself. But I am NOT helping her take him home.” He knew she would need some help, considering Bulma was half the size of Goku.

“Make that transfer kid do it. He’s the one who got Goku cross faded.” Tien suggested, to which Yamcha nodded, in full agreement.

“You’re right. I -can’t- believe I’m dealing with this, dude. Hey! Transfer student!” He yelled, hurrying to where their new friend was. Meanwhile, Bulma pulled up to the house, and heard the loud music, knowing this was gonna be a sticky situation. 

She stomped out, balling her fists. "GOKU! YOU BETTER NOT BE DOING ANYTHING STUPID!" She yelled from outside, walking towards the door. It was weird being here for her. Very weird. She'd sort of drifted off for awhile. Things pile up, school, part time jobs she filled her time with that she didn't need, working with her dad on his inventions, and hanging out with some girlfriends sometimes. She didn't detest any of them, save krillin sometimes, she just wasn't making them a priority in her busy life.

They missed her, but obviously not enough to call (specifically yamcha) or invite her over for barbeques or awkward 420 sessions. The last time they had all been together was for Tien's graduation, and it kind of sucked that the only reason they would all be in the same room now was because Goku was fucked to hell. Nevertheless, Piccolo answered the door and it was quiet for a good ten seconds.   
  
"Oh. Shit, uh, hi." He said. "I guess you're here for asshole, huh?”

  
"Is that BULMA?" Raved a slightly coherent voice from a back room. "My MOM?"   
  
Quiet again.   
  
"Yep." Muttered Piccolo. “Your mom.”

Bulma sighed heavily and walked past him, offering an awkward wave to the rest. “Hey guys. Uh, long time no see.” She smirked, uncomfortable with life at that moment, spotting Goku on the couch. “Hey buddy.” She knelt next to the couch. “You good? Can you walk?”

“Bulma! I have noodle legs!” He retorted, to which Bulma nodded.

“Okay, that’s a no.” She looked to the others, and they gave awkward greetings back, which she expected. “What did he even drink?” She asked.

"I dunno', uh...Yajirobe brought moonshine, and it was all kind of downhill from there." Said Krillin, who wasn't in the best shape ever, but still better than Goku. "There's this exchange guy and-"   
  
"Bulma!" Goku interrupted from the old beat up sofa. "Did you bring me Mcdonald's?"

“That’s so stupid!” Bulma put her hands on her hips. “Just because Roshi isn’t here doesn’t mean you guys can be so irresponsible. Goku’s never drank before, so he’s probably far past wasted. And I thought Yajirobe got banned from bringing Moonshine after he passed out on the toilet.”

“My ban was for strawberry moonshine, for your information.” Yajirobe piped up, sitting at the coffee table with a shady looking mason jar that was half empty in his hand. “This is apple pie flavored.” He unscrewed the cap and took a drink, slamming it back on the table. Chiaotzu placed a small bowl next to him for any future projectile vomiting they all expected.   


“Guys. Even CHIAOTZU is high.” She said, pointing to the younger looking boy, who surprisingly was their age. “His eyes are red."

“Mind your business, Bulma!” Chiao piped up, to which Tien kicked him, causing him to shut up.

“Where’d you guys even get all the alcohol?” Bulma asked, pointing out the assortment of drinks on the bar.

Everyone looked to Yamcha. And Yamcha looked at the floor. “Everyone has a fake ID nowadays. But don’t just blame it all on me, guys. Transfer student over there decided to pitch in a majority of it. And some other stuff too…” He trailed off at the end and nobody but Bulma really noticed.

“Drinking this much is stupid.” Bulma replied.

"Drinking too much isn't stupid." Krillin offered his insight, which nobody really wanted. "STUPID was convincing him to smoke a bowl with you and sitting idly the fuck by while he drank like seven different things, none of those being water."   
  
He eyed Yamcha, who had had probably enough of this by now.    
  
"Nobody here knows how to have fun, you're all lightweights and I need new friends."    
  
A figure snuck by in the backdrop, but Roshi's old door was too creaky to allow any quick escapes. There was a quick uproar.   
  
"Oh no, not you, you're not getting out of this that easy." Tien called out the stranger. "You wanna get out of this in one piece, you help Bulma take him home.”

“Well, hah, that’s definitely not happening, alright? I’ll be on my wa-”

“Nuh uh.” Piccolo said, catching the kid’s sweatshirt. “Not happening.”

The black haired boy growled in response. “You don’t wanna mess with my right now, man.”

“You really wanna send Bulma off with this weird little dude who got goku blasted and PROCEEDED to punch him in the face?” He asked the others, to which they were kind of quiet.

“I mean, I don’t see why not…” Yamcha shrugged.

_ ‘Of course, always one to think about what matters most…’  _ Bulma thought to herself, shaking it off in a moments time. The past was in the past. She knew they weren’t on their best terms, so some coldness was expected. “What in the HELL would make you punch him in the face?!” She pestered him.

“It was a complicated situation.” Vegeta lied, which the others didn’t really take kindly to.

“I don’t feel good. My tummy hurts.” Goku said into Yamcha’s shoulder as he wobbled to him. “You think the others can tell?”

“Yeah no. Okay, get him outta here. Vegeta, you started this, so you’re finishing it.” Yamcha ordered, to which Bulma nodded. For once they agreed.

“You take him to the car and I’ll drive. I’m not cleaning up your mess.” Bulma said, heaving a sigh.

“Well, I think I clearly remember saying I wasn’t gonna’ do that, so-” Vegeta attempted a second exit, but Piccolo stopped him yet again, and with him having a solid foot and a half about the transfer student, it wasn’t looking smart to escape. 

Nobody was really sure about much with this guy, why he was friends with him, why he was so grumpy, and why he’d punched Goku in the face (twice), so in avoidance of the questions, here Vegeta was, trying to carry a guy twice his size to an unfamiliar car, struggling with the weight as a strange girl stood by looking unpleased.

“No, don’t -fucking- help, I totally don’t need it.” Vegeta snapped at her, to which Bulma crossed her arms, unimpressed.

“You be lucky I’m such a nice girl.” She said, taking Goku’s other side, to which he became slightly coherent. “This isn’t even my damn fault. I don’t know why he couldn’t have just stayed there.”

"Oh my god, is Bulma my MOM and Vegeta is my DAD?" He sunk to the ground again. "I am SO blessed."   
  
"Be quiet or so help me god I will -leave- you here." He threatened. But eventually they managed to get him into the backseat and buckle him in. It was kind of like putting a baby in a carseat, what with all the squirming. “So, I say we drop him off in the nearest convenience store parking lot.” Vegeta said as he hopped into the passenger seat, Bulma getting into the driver’s side.

“I know where he lives, get into the back so he doesn’t puke.” She ordered, to which Vegeta almost didn’t comply, but he wanted this to be over, so he just did it.

Goku fell onto Vegeta’s lap upon his arrival, much to Vegeta’s disdain, and obviously, Vegeta wasn’t enough to move him off. “Fuck you.” He muttered to the drunk boy.

“Why the hell bring all of that alcohol? How’d you even get it?” Bulma asked after a moment’s silence.

“That’s a different story for a different time. Can you please drive a little faster?” He asked. “And less recklessly?”

She rolled her eyes, and he did the same. She would have rather been in the car with literally anyone else. At least the others were less snarky. “Fine.”

“Bulma!” Goku chimed in. “I’m so glad you showed up to the party! Was it weird seeing Yamcha? It’s been three months!”

“It doesn’t matter, Goku.” She asked, her knuckles turning white from her grip on the seat. “He’s a piece of shit anyways, I don’t care.” She was still angry at the fact that because they dated inside the friend group, he got all their friends after the breakup. At least she had Chichi, that made it better. As she was thinking angry and snarky comments to herself, she looked ahead in a daze, that was until the car sputtered and they hit a speed bump. Only problem was it for sure was not  speed bump.

“Uh… What was that?” Bulma asked, swallowing nervously.

“I don’t know, what in the hell -was- that?!” Vegeta piped up.

“We hit a baby!” Goku yelled.

“We didn’t hit a baby.” Bulma reassured. But from the bump, she knew they’d hit something. Just hopefully not someone.

She could tell from that point on it was going to be a crazy night.


	2. Tonight, Tonight

Despite the fact that Vegeta did not at all consider himself a weird guy, he could count the number of drunken walks he had taken through the woods on two hands (maybe some toes, but who had to know?). This occasion, he thought to himself, was not at all as pleasurable or story-worthy as the last six or nine times. His sobriety was only questionable, and to top that off he didn't really like telling people that he willingly hung out with Goku. And quite often, too. No, He decided as the song of crickets and pathetic sniffling (the girl) went on and on. This was not a story worth telling, let alone worth living through.

The dead cat, however, was something. Vegeta had never participated in vehicular manslaughter before. 

“Puar sure liked you, Bulma. You remember how she used to let you scratch her tummy but when anyone else did it she’d bite?” Goku laughed cheerfully. “Kind of ironic that you killed her.”

Bulma spat something back, her voice all wet and pathetic and shaken up. Vegeta thought that he had licence to laugh because one, it was pretty damn funny, and two, he had been assigned the sole job of pallbearer here. He carried Puar with the shoulders of a soldier, the bundle of jacket and wilting heat resting uncomfortably in his arms. Bulma didn't seem to care. He could feel her eyes on him in the dark as his laughter sputtered into nothing. 

“Oh, I'm sorry, did you have something to add or?”

“Nope.” Vegeta said.

“Yeah, that's what the hell I thought.”

“Calm down there, girly.” Vegeta snorted, ducking under a thicker patch of brush as all distant light quickly began to disappear. “Don't make this a triple homicide. I’ll do anything, just don't hit me with your fucking Chrysler Concorde.”

“It's an imperial, jackass.”

“Yeah, that's the thing you correct me on.” Vegeta stopped walking when they hit a small clearing in the middle. Discrete, quiet, free of devil worshipers for the time being (but the night was young). “Alright, let's do it here.” 

“Here?” Bulma followed close behind and peered into the tiny clearing crowned by shorter pines and blackberry bushes. Vegeta didn't have to put any light on her face to know that for _ some reason _ she wasn't happy with this. You kill the cat you pick the spot, he guessed. Fair enough.

“Yeah, here, what's wrong with it?” He kicked at the dirt, rich and wet and sturdy. “Prime cat burying real estate right here. Not gonna find any place better than this. It's got dirt, it's got…” 

He paused, pursing his lips for a moment in thought. “More dirt over there…”

“It’s just...In the middle of the woods.” She said. Vegeta whipped around to look her square in the face. 

“Because we just walked...into the woods. Like ten minutes ago.”

“Don't patronize me, I fucking know what we did, it's just…” Bulma trailed off, the words falling off of her lips and into the great big nowhere. She tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d done that a couple of times tonight. Dirty old habits die harder than dirty old cats.

“...Puar was Yamcha’s favorite thing in the world, like, period, and even if I decide to tell him someday he’ll never be able to find where she's buried out here and he’ll- God, trust me, he’ll find a way to blame this on us breaking up, and it'll be a big thing. It’s always a big thing with him. Fuck, you know, I can just hear him.  _  Didn’t have to kill my cat, Bulma. Could have just talked it out, Bulma _ .’ because he always has to say my name when he’s guilting me over something, as if I don’t already-”

“Hey.” Vegeta said. “What's your name?”

“Bulma.” Goku offered, from a spot on the forest floor that he had at some point become one with.

“Bulma.” Vegeta began. “It happened, okay? And it was an accident, we all saw that it was. The best thing you can do is the best thing that you can do. So what do you think that is?”

“I don't know.” She sat down next to Goku’s little nest by the softer foliage, smoothing back his hair  just to do anything at all. “Bury her.”

Vegeta shrugged. “Then bury her.” 

 

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

 

“ _ Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here. To watch his woods fill up with snow _ .” 

Goku gave the main reading from nothing other than botched and distant memory. Bulma, by means of an unusually sharp rock, dug a shallow pit at more or less a foot deep. Vegeta, like some kind of saint in dirty Adidas and a ringer tee, stood above it all holding the body of a dead innocent. Puar was of course the star of this little show, swaddled in Vegeta’s old baja jacket and rendering it forever unwearable now. 

Out of the four of them there nestled amidst dirt and tangles of pines and thirty or so visible stars, three would not soon forget this. Even if Vegeta would have paid to at that point in time. 

“ _ The woods are lovely. Dark, and deep _ .” Goku went on. “ _ But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep _ .” 

The quiet survived him. Bulma threw down the rock to signal the end of her part of the job, and she stood up to brush away the dirt and grass from her clothes.

“Nice.” Vegeta said. “Robert Frost?”

“Sure is.” Goku mumbled into the spot of grass now made comfortably warm by the side of his face. “How’d you know that?”

“I read.”

They would all recall later how quiet it was while somehow being the loudest place that any of them had ever been in. Vegeta’s dad had always said something about how that determines a lot about a person; whether they have more trouble sleeping in the city or in the forest. And Vegeta had always thought it a stupid method until he was actually there thrown into it all.

And the trees whispered with the wind like old friends. And the owls bantered,and the bugs, millions of them, hammered on and on and on for an eternity and a half. It was alright out there, away from hell but not quite bordering heaven. He stuck his head up. He sighed.

“Okay, Pu’erh.” Said Vegeta.

“Puar.” Bulma interjected, her patience for the cool guy act dropping with the temperature.

“Puar.” He coughed. “Right. Well Puar, I didn't know you, but if you lived an entire nine lives with the likes of Yamcha then you must have been, in the shortest words, a hard motherfucker. I would like to go home now. Rest in peace.”

“Asshole.” Though she had been biting her tongue, Bulma had officially decided that neither Goku or the saint of dead cats and adidas were worth her best patience. “Just put her in the ground already.”

“Can do.” 

Now was the hour. And they had no flowers to give, and very few kind words to lower her down with. But they had hands to spread dirt with, and the kind of guilt that makes your stomach twitch. Or Bulma did, at least. Vegeta wagered that all though he didn’t know her, she’d forget about it soon enough. Most ex-boyfriends were standing in line to get their karma, and if Yamcha got his served up with a plate of dead pussycat, so it would be. Vegeta didn’t know the story. He knew his objective. Bury the cat, go home, exist exist exist. 

And so he hunched down, the smell of old leaves and petrichor tempting and prodding at good memories, all though this fuckwagon of an experience would indubitably create a bad one.  He held his breath. She left his arms and rolled out into a hole where the sun couldn’t touch her, and in one, two, three seconds she was out of their lives and into the big beyond or whatnot. 

“There.” Vegeta said.

“There.” Bulma agreed some few seconds later.

“You guys know I don’t own one article of clothing with buttons on it?” Said Goku. “Not one.”

Vegeta nodded to acknowledge that yes, that was a totally crazy piece of information. Bulma quietly fought the debate on whether to cry now or save it for her bedroom. Puar said nothing because she was both dead and a cat. 

“Cool.” Vegeta grabbed for a handful of unearthed soil and shook it loose in his hand. “Let’s wrap this up, yeah?”

The ranks were all in favor of that one. There were beds to be messed up, secrets to be slept on. In the shoes of Goku in about ten hours, toilets to spew colors all over. Promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and the whole shebang. Vegeta rose his fist into the air like the god he so often felt he was, and let free the first rain of dirt that would put to bed the myth, the legend, the dead cat. 

And just as myths, monsters, legends, and Jesus H. Christ himself were known to, Puar didn’t seem to wholeheartedly agree with the death thing.   


Before he even had the time to appreciate the sanctity and reliability of the good ol’ doubletap, Vegeta had claws in his neck and another few names on his hit list. 

“Well,” Bulma thought. “Welcome to Westlake.” 

 

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

 

If Vegeta were feeling more like himself on the car ride out of the woods that night, he would have looked out of the windows and thought to himself that Westlake was a funny little town. The kind painted into postcards, or broken into 365 pieces and sold as a jigsaw puzzle. The kind of town that loves itself, but only on the surface because the guy who owns the fotomat is into weird porn, or the kidnapping spree of 1987 is never brought up again after a particularly good high school football season.

He would think to himself that he would rather not live here. Because the movie store only ever stockpiles old spaghetti westerns, and if ever he’s going to get his hands on a goddamn Nintendo 64 it will be three years after the initial release, if that coot at the Saver’s mart keeps ordering stock at the speed of molasses on a cold day. He would think to himself, if he were himself, that back home wasn’t as bad as he liked to yell about on drunken summer nights. That he missed the city. Ugly little pigeons and sunsets that crept out into warm black like the end of a movie. The lights and the cold beating heart of capitalism and the endless, endless smell of chilli dogs and bad malt liquor. 

That was all dead now. And so he was not himself, if only for the moment. 

“Might be a bad time to say it, but.” Vegeta said it, sure as shit. “I got a little bit of a cat allergy.”

It is, afterall, hard to be your usual self when your skin is suddenly freckled with little pink welts, and your throat is all itchy, and your eyes feel the way that eyes should... _ probably  _ not feel? So maybe it was less of a teenage angst thing and more of a  _ i literally feel like i’m going to die  _ thing.

“What?” Bulma closed her mouth, opened it again, and turned to look at him. “How...How much is a little bit by your standards?”

“Like…” Vegeta thought. “Like, less of a bit and more of a lot.”

“A big lot?”

“Will you fucking drive somewhere  already?!” He scratched at a particularly nasty bit of swelling and mentally felt his father swatting his hand away. 

“I am driving! Nobody will tell me where to go!” Bulma looked over to Vegeta for instruction and found a hell of a lot more than directions. “Oh my god you look like a sunburnt  shar pei.”

“Shut up! Shut up! I know it!”  Vegeta spat, rubbing at his temples just to touch anything other than the source of the itch.

“Well what do you want me to do?!” Bulma was a smart girl. She knew about these things. It was act now and freak out later, or it was freak out now and push a dead guy out of your car on the freeway later. Even if she didn’t have personal experience with that last part. One could imagine. “Shit, are you okay?!”

“Oh, shucks.” And she knew it was going to be a less than helpful answer at the unnatural rising of his tone. “Well, you know I reckon I could be doing a lot fucking better, dolly.”

“I’m going to need you to not take that tone with me and answer my question, or you’re going to find that my hospitality diminishes tenfold for people who can’t offer me basic human respect.”

“I’m gonna’ die in this car.” Vegeta stated, very matter o’ factly. “With a trashed guy who still wears power rangers underwear and his cheerleader girlfriend, I’m going to die.”

“Stop it! If you have a cat allergy and it’s bad enough to make you say something like that, unless you’re just a cynical asshole, which is very much the vibe that I’m catching right now-” Bulma caught her train of thought just before it left and sighed, averting the sight of him at all costs. “Then you must have a way to...I don’t know, reverse it.”

“Reverse it.” He scoffed. “Like it’s a fucking vampire’s curse or something.”

“Alright, well I’m done talking to this one.” Bulma decided, noting that he definitely wasn’t wearing his seatbelt and that it would be interestingly easy to just ever so gently step on the breaks and… “Goku, do you know if Vegeta has an EpiPen?”

“I suuuure do.” Goku nodded a few more times than necessary, and nestled his head into the backseat window. A few seconds passed. And then too many. Vegeta kept stewing over there, apparently to make it clear that yes, he  _ was _ planning on being of absolutely no help tonight. 

“...So does he?”

“Yes!” Goku chirped. “His dad keeps it in the downstairs bathroom closet so it doesn’t get lost again!” Vegeta turned his head, rose an eyebrow, and decided not to say something before opening his mouth after the passing of a few confused moments. 

“I hate that you know that.”

Goku was the one to finally cough up Vegeta’s address, which he did willingly and from memory, much to Vegeta’s dismay. Six months living in a sad town of bored mongrels will, if nothing else, make them take a liking to you. Which Goku did. Times ten. Enough so that he knew where Vegeta’s house was from memory, and where he kept his epinephrine.

Twenty minutes later they showed up in his drive. Though Vegeta had protested the entire time under the assumption that they would cramp his style or something, Bulma had found it alright. And she had insisted that they would be there until she knew he wasn’t going to keel over and die. At which point they would get Goku where he needed to be so that she could gladly hightail it the fuck out of his life and business.

But the night was not yet pulling to a close. As her car crept down the lengthy road to his house, Vegeta was already, for whatever reason, undoing his belt. And not his seatbelt, at that.

“Fair warning.” He began. “As soon as we pull in there, I’m gonna’ run inside and I’m gonna’ take my pants off and it’s gonna’ be weird.”

“Cool.” Said Goku. “Why?”

“An Epinephrine shot has to go right into the upper thigh, Goku.” Bulma said, correctly assuming that Vegeta didn’t have the patience to explain it at the current time. “It’s better that you don’t have pants on so that it goes in easier.” 

The car went into park, and Vegeta was out of the car and into the house before Goku could get smacked for daring to say ‘that’s what she said’ in the sanctity of Bulma’s car. His jeans, dead and limp in a dormant rosemary bush next to the walkway. Bulma left Goku to rest in the car, methodically bobbing his head to nothing in particular as she walked up to the house.

In the nicest of words, Bulma hadn’t expected Vegeta’s house to be more than a shithole. And it was far from it. As far as you could go without being filthy rich.  Hell, there was  _ rosemary _ in the frontyard. It was weird, was all. With as surly as Vegeta acted, she hadn’t really pictured him eating breakfast on the wrap around porch of a ranch-style home. Don’t judge a book?

His home didn’t shed much more light on the mystery. She snuck through his open front door like a cat (oops) and the first thing she noticed was that it smelled like weed. But not totally, which was the kicker. It was mingled with something like lavender or Verbena, or maybe jasmine. A clean smell. The smell of a cool parent’s house. The weed smell was expected, but the cigarettes and pabst that an angsty boy might prove to smell of were nowhere at all. Maybe his mom taught yoga or something. 

And it was decorated real cute.  With nice throw pillows, and an old pioneer record player.  Real warm looking, a home that you could get comfortable in. But at the same time the kind that you knew you had to take your shoes off to enter. And so she did, kicking them off into a shoe rack with only one other pair of mens shoes on it. Vegeta’s were still in the driveway.

“Down here.” Vegeta called. She traced his voice to a stairway by the entryway. Bulma followed it down to a cracked open door and gingerly poked her head through. And oh, how quickly could a god fall from grace at the single hand of his weaknesses. 

“Hey.” She said, watching him like a bad car crash. “You okay?”

“Never better.” There wasn’t much venom in his voice. What energy he had left was not present in his voice, but probably focused in staying awake. Vegeta lay there, used up and all splayed out on a quilted comforter. Boxer shorts very much there, thankfully. The swelling seemed to have subsided. She felt weird to be there. But he didn’t object when she sat to the edge of his bed and played a quiet role.

“Do you need anything?” Bulma asked. “Water?” Pants?

“No.” 

“You should really drink some water or something.” 

“I’m okay.” He asserted, as firmly as he could with half of his energy used up. “Not that big of a deal. Just have to lay down for a second and then we can...Fuck off to the next great thing.” Which would be taking Goku back, she assumed. And she was sort of glad that he was still coming with her after all this. It was an admirable thing to do, for a rude little punk.

Bulma sat in the bedroom of this stranger with unruly hair and a wild streak wherever he went, and she got the feeling that despite it all, this wouldn’t be her last run in with him. And maybe he got that feeling to. Because he felt the need to speak up again.

“So,” He sighed, shifting around to sit up and dig around on his bedside table. “How do you know...the villiage idiot out there.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. Broke into half of a smile. There wouldn’t ever be a need to ask about who or what when the word ‘idiot’ or any extension of it, was involved. 

“Against my will.” She said. “Kidding. Goku and I grew up together. Or more like I babysat him, but whatever. He moved into my neighborhood when he was a real little kid. I liked to boss him around and he liked to ride my bike, so it worked out okay. He’s more of my brother than my friend.”

“Oh, so it’s not like  _ that _ , then?” Vegeta scoffed. 

“Like?”

“Like you’re not fucking?” 

“Gross.” Bulma smacked his leg. “He’s sixteen. I can have friends, jackass.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed, from the way he talks about you. ‘Oh, my best friend Bulma, don’t be mean to Bulma, yamcha, I miss Bulma’. Like...” Vegeta pulled a cigarette from his nightstand and put it behind his ear for later. “Come on. Totally fucking.”

“Pig.”

“You are what you eat.” Vegeta shrugged.

“Is that why you’re such an asshole?”

“Tou-fucking-ché.” He let it lie for some time. The space heater roared. Outside, the first of the spring insects were beginning to sing. Bulma felt okay. Vegeta felt a lot of things, none of which being that. But he didn’t shut up. Against his better judgement, he opened up his stupid mouth.

“Why don’t you ever come by Roshi’s if you and Goku are such pals? You must know how often he goes there.”

“I do.” She scratched her nose. “I did. It’s just weird now. It’s complicated. It wouldn’t be cool for me to show up as much as I used to.”

“Weird? Weird how?” Vegeta urged, crossing his arms. She shot him a displeased kind of look. 

“Nosy.”

“Call it scientific curiosity.” He wagered. And, well. Bulma was afterall, a woman of science. How could she argue with that? She crossed her legs at the knees, resting her tired head against his wall. 

“Don’t ever date within your friend group, okay?” Bulma came clean, and the way in which Vegeta’s eyebrows puckered down suggested that okay, he got it now. “There’s no such thing as good terms. Nobody does that. It’s bullshit, and it ruins everything, and in the long run you should just not shoot for boys on the basketball team because for some reason they’re all tools. Don’t quote me on that.”

Vegeta was on the basketball team. An aspiring point guard, and a transfer from a few cities over. So maybe he wasn’t going to answer it. For his own set of reasons. 

“Huh.” He nodded. “Okay. So this is a Yamcha thing then, yeah?"

“Yeah.” She scoffed, offering up another ugly look in his direction. “...Yeah, this is a Yamcha thing.”

“Well.” Vegeta cleared his throat. “I think you’ll find somewhere down the line that Yamcha is his own breed, and all of those lovely traits that you probably despise aren’t just attributed to men who play basket-”

How they hadn’t heard it, she didn’t know. But the door swung open with a kind of politeness that you could feel in the lack of urgency. The way a parent does it. And it was a parent alright, if Bulma knew anything at all about the way genetics work. If the visitor at the door wasn’t Vegeta’s dad then it was either him from an alternate timeline, or a very odd coincidence.

“Junior?” Yeah, there it was. “You run into a cat?”

“Yeah, dad.” Vegeta deadpanned. 

“Again?”

“Yeah, dad.”

“Huh.” Said Vegeta’s dad, looking up to the ceiling in thought over whether or not to make this a big thing. “You take care of it?” Vegeta shifted around uncomfortably.

“Kind of.”

Vegeta’s older clone in leisurewear and dad slippers seemed satisfied enough with that response. His son was alive, if not beaten and humiliated, but that was just kind of being a teenager. He seemed used to it. He offered Bulma a little wave before parting. 

“There’s a car in the driveway with an open door!” He called down on the way up. “And it’s the back one, so unless one of you rode presidential, I would worry about burglars. That kid down the road is creepy.”

There is always a moment before the storm hits. Where you honestly do believe that nothing is wrong, and that everything is in it’s place because that’s the easiest thing to believe. And then your stomach hurts. A little at first, and more as the gravity of the situation sinks into your skull. Then into your heart, and your toes, and your eyes as you both look at each other and realize just what the fuck is going on. And the storm is there. And it never left.

“Goku.” Bulma hissed, hopping to her feet as Vegeta followed close behind in equal panic. “Fuck.”

Vegeta had always had a bad habit of never fearing the worst. But when the two of them found Bulma’s car, empty and open for business, he knew. He knew, oh he so desperately knew from the bottom to the top of his heart, that shit was fucked. And that there was more to this than she knew as she took him by the arm and began to drag him down the long road, calling Goku’s name the whole time.

He wasn’t behind the house. Not inside of it, which they’d thought at first, but quickly discovered to be untrue when the food in the fridge was still there. He wasn’t in the shed. Not sleeping in the bushes. The only other possible outcome was the woods again. The acres upon acres of woods behind Vegeta’s house. And so there they were going back.

“So I have…” Vegeta stopped. “Withheld something from you.” 

“What?” Bulma stopped walking and turned around, shining a flashlight on him. “What are you...Oh god, what are you talking about…”

“It’s not...Look, it’s not that huge of a deal, and I know you’re going to freak anyway, so I’m just going to come out with it, and please remember that taking it out on me is going to do nothing but sabotage the search.” So he went out with it. “Goku isn’t drunk.”

Bulma looked at him real funny. Like he hadn’t been here for this entire goddamn debacle of an ordeal and witnessed Goku’s antics for every step of the way.

“Of course he is.” She stared at him blankly. “Didn’t you fucking see him?”

“Oh, yeah, no yeah I definitely did, it’s just that…” He swallowed. He crossed his arms. He laughed. “This isn’t...This isn’t going to be the ‘the time goku got wasted’ story. It’s...It’s gonna’ be the ‘the time goku accidentally took a tab of acid’ story.”

Bulma blinked. She felt, amongst seven different levels of rage, her stomach drop into her toes. She felt a lot of things, on that awful January night in 1996. But mostly she felt like if she had anything to do with it, this was going to be the story that Vegeta didn’t see the end of.

“You’d better start talking.”


	3. No Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me cheesy 90s teen movie vibes lmao. Enjoy

**By: Hicburgli**  


“Hah.” She shook her head. It was funny. It was a joke. Not real. “You really have a good sense of humor.”

“Maybe I do, but this unfortunately does not fall under the ‘joke’ category, Bulma.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked any way that didn’t have her in the view. “It’s not like I gave it to him on purpose.” Because of course, turning the blame away made things -so- much better.

“I’m not buying it, Vegeta. What happened?” She folded her arms across her chest as she openly judged this guy she’d met not hours earlier. “Because Chichi will absolutely -kill- me if I let something happen to Goku.” Because of course, she always kept her priorities in the right place.

The air outside was chilly, and the nightly breeze had set over East City, so of course, Goku had to have been in the shrubbery somewhere, somehow. Vegeta was practically pulling his hair out. What kind of party was this supposed to be.

“Y’know, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night either.” She grumbled in response to nothing. She knew he was annoyed. “Just remember it’s your fault.”

“It’s not my fault, it’s that dumb ex-boyfriend of yours’ fault.” He gave up the act. Why should he have been taking the blame for Yamcha being a dumbass anyway?

"And what do you mean by that?” The blue eyed beauty asked as she stopped walking in her tracks to turn and face her new companion for the time being until their mission of finding Goku ended. “Are you trying to pin this on Yamcha of all people?”

“Not on purpose.” Vegeta huffed in response. “I have no reason to make that shit up. The guy needed to buy acid, I got him said acid, and then he did with it what he wanted. Was not my problem after that. I was simply just the messenger bird.” And as ridiculous as it sounded, it was the truth. But something in Bulma couldn’t fathom the fact that her ex boyfriend was capable of hard drugs.

“No way.” She responded as she shook her head. “The guy can barely smoke weed. Let alone drop -acid-.”

The guy could also snort coke like it was nothing. But Vegeta knew better than to comment on that part. “Dunno’ what to tell you, sweetheart.” He walked ahead of her as she stood in awe of how honest he was.

“Nice comic book pajama pants.” She said with a smug smile plastered on her face. “And Hoobastank sweatshirt.”

“Fuck off, it’s cold and we were in a rush.” He retorted back. It was another few minutes or so before she opened her mouth again.

“So… Yamcha? Really? She questioned.

“Yamcha. Really.” He assured. “The prick didn’t even save any as an interest fee for me.” 

Bulma walked on behind him, looking behind trees and listened for abnormalities or things that didn’t sound like leaves moving from the wind. And that was all she heard. “You think he died?”

“That’d make our lives a lot easier, huh?” He half joked.

“Fuck off.” She responded, not answering his question. “Also, thanks for helping me. Even if you were kind of forced to.” She almost didn’t notice him take a cigarette out of his pocket and light it up. “Really? After what just happened?”

“I almost died, I remember clearly. The whole no pants thing.” He rolled his eyes. “I have allergies, not asthma. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

“Yes.” She answered easily. “I just don’t get how much you don’t care for your health.”

“Listen, if I came with you to talk about my living habits, I would have just gone back to therapy. But no, I’m here, looking for a drugged up Goku, risking my life for some poor son of a bitch’s cat, and hanging out with you.” He smirked. “Although this experience tonight alone might make me need to make an appointment tomorrow. The lady’s probably bored without my stories.”

“Yeah? What kind of stories?” Bulma recounted the weird things she’d heard about Vegeta in her head before speaking. “Like the one where you ate a whole duck? Feathers and all?”

He turned back to her. “I don’t recall.” He almost laughed. “Of course you would believe the shit people say at school. But I shouldn’t expect too much.” He looked her up and down. “You seem like the type to peak in high school.”

She dropped her mouth open in offense. “No! I’m great! My whole life is a peak!”

“You need higher peaks than.” 

“Screw you.”

“You’re the sad one.” He bit his tongue after the last comment to stop himself, knowing that with someone like her, ego was a fragile being. Yet that was anyone in high school these days.  “I’d say my stories aren’t as exciting as me eating feathered creatures, although there was this one time…”

And so they went on like that. Vegeta telling some stories about times he got in trouble for tagging buildings with profane messages, and Bulma listening carefully to both his stories and the trees, constant worry for where their friend was.  

“So…” She piped up. “Why-uh- Why did Yamcha want acid?” She asked. “It’s just… So Unlike him.” IT hurt, it honestly truly hurt. Yamcha was supposed to be the good kid who liked to drink sometimes and play baseball and basketball. Not some drugged up party boy. Never some drugged up party boy.”  
  
“Bulma, he’s a teenage boy.” Vegeta scoffed. “He’s an idiot. He wants people to think he’s cool. And I swear, he is not the first kid I see who takes acid at a fucking kickback. Childish.” And then he looked at her, a blanket around her shoulders to keep away from the cold, and he almost felt bad. Almost. She looked worried. “I’m sure Goku’s fine. I’ve never taken acid personally, but from what I hear it doesn’t last for too long.”

“You think he’s having a bad trip?” She asked, looking over as they left the forest into a greener area.

“The guy’s the happiest person on Earth. I’m sure he doesn’t have a thing to trip about.” He looked around. “We’re already at the lake.”

She looked around as well. “I mean, we’ve been walking for quite awhile.” She didn’t know the area too well around here, but she knew it’d been quite the trek. She looked out to the lake and it was pretty. But the moment was not one to bask in with the current situation at hand.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” He cleared his throat. “You thanked me earlier.”

Bulma looked over at him as he said that, and she laid the blanket on the ground. “Yeah, no problem.”

He looked at her and sighed, lightly leaning and bumping her shoulder. It was kind of affectionate? Affectionate in a barely noticeable kind of way. “Think about it this way. Yamcha’s okay because he didn’t even get to take the acid anyways.” 

She was almost surprised he was actually being nice. Big bad Vegeta being a wholesome fella was a sight none of her friend’s would believe existed. But she was just happy she could see it. “I guess you’re right.”

“Yeah, now lighten up.” Vegeta said. “Yknow, some people don’t even feel anything when they first take it. So maybe he’s just on a walk and… maybe it didn’t work on him.”

Almost as if on queue, a loud whiz through the brush could be heard, and soon, a figure tackled Bulma at full force and into the lake with a loud splash. Vegeta grabbed the dry blanket and threw it to where it would stay dry.

“Goku!” Bulma screamed as she resurfaced a few seconds later, doggy paddling to keep above water. “You -know- I can barely swim!” She yelled, a hand slapping Goku in the head as he came out of the water to, floating with ease.”

“We had to swim!” Goku shouted excitedly. Vegeta was beside himself and probably laughed harder than he’d ever laughed in his life.

“Yeah, swim. Of course that’s what had to happen. You had to swim.” He knelt down and offered a hand to her, pulling it back as he laughed again.

“QUIT IT, Goku! We did -not- have to swim! Can you fucking help me already?!” She reached out for Vegeta’s hand, and he calmed his laughing down to hold it out again.

“Sorry, I’m okay now. Just thinking about how nice it is to be warm and dry.” He replied.

“Yeah?” Bulma asked, mischievous tones in her voice. “Let’s fix that.” And when he was back in another fit of laughter, being vulnerable, she snatched his hand and yanked him in.

Oh, and he was pissed. Very pissed. Vegeta was a good swimmer. Always had been. Would have been on the swim team, if he had been more into it. In fact he knew this lake very well, even in the few months that he had been here.  
  
And he knew just how long he could hold his breath for. And so he stayed under, sent them a few panicky bubbles, and set his revenge. When in doubt, fake your own death. Because that's a good prank, right?

Her eyes widened and she looked at Goku. "Why didn't you tell me he couldn’t swim!?" She pushed Goku angrily and went underwater , grabbing Vegeta’s hand to pull him back up. "Come on, idiot, BREATHE!" Goku had absolutely no idea what was going on. "I refuse to bury you." She said. "Not in your hoobastank sweatshirt and comic book pants. That would be tacky.”

"And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills, and the landslide brought me down.." Goku muttered, laying on the ground like discarded trash.  
  
That alone could have sent Vegeta into hysterics again, but for some reason he kept his cool and told himself that he would keep this going for a few more seconds just for the hell of it. Maybe he'd make them think he was undead or something. He was wet and cold. The least he could do was fuck with them.  
  
"Is my vegetable man dead?" Goku asked. "What I miss?"

"GOKU I THINK I JUST KILLED HIM!" She slapped him in the face, attempting to wake him. And so she dragged him out of the water with no help from the limp Goku on the ground singing Fleetwood Mac. "You better wake up, I JUST met you, that can't be it!" She slapped him a few more times, and started doing CPR. Goku decided to sing Stayin Alive because that was the only thing he could think of that was correlated with CPR.

"Well you can tell by the way I use my walk I am goku, no time to talk." Goku chanted on in the background.  
  
It was all fun and games until the CPR started, and then he jolted up purely out of the fact that he wasn't into getting the shit beat out of his chest by Yamcha's girlfriend.  
  
Then though, he supposed that she was just Bulma now.  
  
"Aaahck, I'm good I'm good it was a joke, stop!" He snapped up.

She recoiled quick and sat back with her hands on the ground behind to stabilize her. “I was about to go into mouth to mouth if you weren’t gonna’ wake up. I’ve got a bright future ahead, so you blood isn’t getting on my hands.” She rubbed her temples. “Goku, stop -singing-!” She yelled. “And Vegeta fuck your jokes.”

Goku stopped singing and seemingly fell asleep, which could have been dangerous, but who was keeping track anyhow?"  
  
"That's what you get!" He fought. "Fate decided that YOU should fall in, not me, and now there's kelp in my etnies, and-"  
  
He fell backward onto the grass, alive and lucid this time, but very much just tired and admiring what view there was in the dark.   
  
"Oh, wow." He said, in a kind of mimicky voice. "Mouth to mouth. I'll bet you're not even certified."

"I'll have you know I took a class on CPR and my certification doesn’t expire for another month!" She argued. "It's simple!" She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at the sky vegeta was admiring. It certainly was pretty.

"Well you -almost- let me die, and for the second time tonight, so i'm thinking maybe it's a good thing that it's about to expire."  
  
He sat up and looked at her, intent on making her feel bad or teasing just a little bit more. But he noticed that her hair looked kind of good like that. Deep and dark in the moonlight, stuck to her face in little wisps. And then he had looked for too long. Way too long.   
  
He cleared his throat and tossed the blanket at her, which had evaded getting wet.  
  
"Don't renew it." He coughed.

When she noticed him looking at her, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Uh, thanks. Here, just take half until we get up to leave.” She pressed, moving closer to let half of it lay in his lap.

“He better be worth it.” Vegeta said after some time of uncomfortably shifting his eyes between her long blue locks and the dark sky.

“I do what I can to take care of him when I need to.” She shrugged. “Lately I’ve been more disconnected though, as you probably know.”

“Yeah, I know, he talks about you all the time. But it’s not too exciting, so even if you’re missing the best person there, it isn’t too bad.” He retorted with a smirk, his cockiness surely showing.

“Wow, you’re confident. You’re saying you’re the best person there?”

“Well, you have the bald kid, Goku, Yamcha, the other bald kid, the fat guy, the old man, the small mean kid, and me. So yeah. Best one. That’s me. Get used to it.” And he very much had a point. And Bulma recognized that.

“Yeah, whatever. You’re not so bad.” Bulma responded, watching him watch the sky. He was surprisingly interesting to be around. Interesting being her cover word for enjoyable. He was enjoyable to be around. He made good conversation.

“I know.” He smirked back. The town was not his favorite, not in the slightest, but it was okay. The other town he lived in, he was popular in simply because all the fighting idiots followed him around like dogs. Nappa and Qui were practically henchmen to the kid whose name everyone knew.  “Hey,” He stood up slowly and stretched his back, grabbing Goku’s arm. “Let’s get heading back to my house. Get Goku some food and get into some dry clothes. I don’t feel like getting shot out here.”

It wasn’t unlikely in this town. “Yeah, sure.” She nodded.

“You can- I dunno- stay if you want. It’s late, and I don’t trust you navigating your car late at night.” He said, looking at the ground as they started walking, Vegeta not showing the blush on his face.

“Sure, that’s fine. But Goku can take the guest bed. I’ll take the couch or something. I don’t feel like having Goku sleep puke on me or anything.”

"Ooooh." Said Goku, half awake and full asshole. Vegeta kicked him for the third time, and it seemed to have shut him up.  
  
"You know. Whatever." He looked away. "I don't care."

Giving all her might to help carry goku, she smiled. "Thanks, I appreciate it." She said. "I'm fine on the couch or something, I'm not risking sleeping in the same bed as goku. He might lose his lunch again." She laughed. "I really wonder what time it even is. Any idea?”

“Three-thirty-two.” Vegeta said as he looked at his watch, wondering if being with her right now was against his will at this point. “Your parents gonna’ be pissed?” He asked.

“No, I do well in school and I’m not a troublemaker. They knew I went to get Goku anyways so they probably thought I just stayed over. They’re laid back enough.” Bulma responded as Goku weighed her down a bit. Same with her wet and heavy clothes.

"Wow, that's trusting." He snorted at a thought. "Especially if they willingly knew that you subjected yourself to guys like -Yamcha-."   
  
He kept coming back to that. He didn't really mind Yamcha all that much, and might consider him a friend if he did that easily, but he just couldn't beat himself of the thought that anyone would date him. Mainly Bulma, who was annoying, but by all intents and purposes, too good for him.  
  
"I mean. Wow."

Bulma smirked. "We're not together for that reason. I couldn't subject myself to untrustworthy people." Shrugging, she sighed. "I mean I just always had this feeling he was seeing other people.  So eventually I gave up. It's too awkward to really hang around there anymore."

"Well, you got him back. If my ex-girlfriend hit my cat with her car, I'd take the hint that I had fucked up pretty badly." He said, as eventually they made it to the end of the treeline and shuffled through to where his driveway was.   
  
The light was still on in his dad's room. His dad was pretty into the whole internet thing, and stayed up late often because of it. Vegeta didn't think the trend would catch on, but whatever. At least that meant they weren't keeping him up.  
  
"God, we're all gonna' get swimmer’s itch now. Won't that help the situation."

"Don't even talk about it." She groaned, helping him take Goku up to the guest bedroom. "And it's not like I tried to hit Puar. I would never intentionally hurt an animal. I would hurt Goku before a little kitty."

"I would hurt Goku before most things." He admitted. They flung him into the guest bed where he could sleep and recover and be a nuisance in peace.   
  
"Goodnight, bitch." He threw the blanket over him and gave a long, tired exhale as he wrung out his wet clothes on the floor that he would have to clean tomorrow. What a great Saturday that would be.   
  
"Are you good?" He asked suddenly. "You did kind of get tackled into a lake in the middle of spring, I guess."

She shrugged and slipped her jacket off, laying it on a chair. Her entire outfit was still soaked underneath however. “I’m fine. Thanks for the concern. Just… A bit damp. And cold. How about you?”

"Fine. Gross, but fine. You're grosser, so." He cleared his throat and flagged her down into his scrubby little basement once more. "So you should probably just borrow some pajamas and not be gross, I guess."  
  
He rifled awkwardly through his drawers. There were definitely some teenage ninja mutant turtle pajama pants in there, so he stuffed them further down and kept looking. He handed her a pair of old plaid pajama bottoms and an outdated band tee shirt.

She took the pajamas with pleasure and grinned. "Thanks a lot for your help tonight. I know I already said that but I really do appreciate it. Hopefully it wasn't completely horrible.  I mean you got to spend the whole night with ME of all people!"

He almost laughed again and suppressed it, shaking his head as she walked out of the room to where he pointed out the bathroom. When she changed and stepped back out, she found herself staring at his cold eyes for way too long before saying anything. “Oh, uh, well, I pull them off!” She giggled, changing the subject as she did a small twirl.

They always said you were a winner if you got a girl into your clothes. Vegeta was a teen male, not a statue. So of course he was slightly turned on. Not often do girls just walk into your house at almost four am wearing your pajamas. But he said nothing of the matter and simply cleared his throat, showing her to where she’d be sleeping. He didn’t offer her the bed because he had no social skills, so settle for second best and gave her the couch in the living room. “It’s more comfortable than it looks. And there’s blankets and pillows in that cabinet.”

Bulma nodded and gathered up some things before setting them on the couch. “Thanks. I promise, Goku and I will be out of your hair early.” And she meant that. She hated being a nuisance.

“Hah, good luck with that.” He laughed. "I wouldn't worry about it. At this rate I won't be up until four. Doubt if i'll even notice."   
  
He looked at her again. Force of habit. Curled up, sleepy, wet hair, and in -his- pajamas nonetheless. If nothing else, he knew it would piss Yamcha off. That was the only good thing about it, he told himself. He thought for a moment, about how she had pulled him out of the water, and got him home in time to get his medication. And it made him feel sick, in some way. That wouldn't do. “Goodnight.” He said before walking out of the room abruptly.

“Oh, okay. Goodnight.” She laughed as he wandered out, and she pulled the blankets up to her neck, letting sleep take her with little time to think about the events of the night.

“Is that your girl?” Vegeta’s dad asked over a pot of coffee as Vegeta emerged from the bathroom, fresh in a dry pair of pajamas.

“No, no way.” He said. “Just a guest.” His dad smiled.

“You’re doing fine here. I told you you’d make some friends.” To that, Vegeta scoffed and went back upstairs, destined to get some sleep at this point.

When Bulma woke early the next morning, she made it quick to get Goku woken up and moved to her car to get him home. She happened to walk past a couple photos of little Vegeta on her way out, causing her to smile. He wasn’t so bad afterall.

He definitely wasn’t bad, that was for certain.  
  
But she would form more opinions on him later when there wasn't a high Goku to take care of.


	4. Some Might Say

“And I've been throwing up for  _ two days. _ ” Said Goku, the fear in his voice slipping into excitement. “It was ethereal. I looked into that toilet bowl this morning and I knew that there was no god, and if there was, that he had abandoned me a long time ago. I can't explain it. I’ve transcended forms.”

It was a lot to discuss over a telephone line. But the quad was stripped of life on that fine Monday morning. Most people were already filing into first period, and those who weren't are sucking down their last bits of donut shop coffee and stolen cigarettes. Seniors, mainly. Vegeta watched the population flush out from the hood of his car and decided on a whim, that one smoke just wasn't going to melt the ice this morning.

“Goku,”  He begged. “Stop calling me. Come to school or go back to bed.”

“I can't go to school like this, Vegeta, my tummy is still all fucked up and all.”

“You aren't still high, you're sick because you eat like an inner city garbage can and you don't pay attention to the red flags that your body pleads for you to fucking acknowledge.” Vegeta took a fat drag through his cold fingers. “Go go bed.”

“And the diarrhea?”

“I'm hanging up.” Vegeta said. “Who is this? Goodbye.”

“Wait-wait-wait! I didn't even tell you about the-” But the old bell screamed into the thick morning air. Vegeta was late, officially. Probably would be by about ten minutes. “Is school starting already? Why aren't you in class?”

“Why aren't you?” Vegeta finished up his smoke. Flicked the ashy stub off to god knows wherever. “Don't answer that.”

Goku kept talking for an amount of time that could have been an hour or thirty seconds. It all felt the same. Goku never talked about the same things, but he always talked about them in the same way. With life, like finding two toys at the bottom of his cereal box was the closest thing to ultimate nirvana he would ever reach. Like anything at all was worth telling someone about. And he had a lot to tell. Vegeta just didn't have the ears for it. 

“You should go to class.” Goku urged him at some point. “You'll get written up again. Coach Kai will chew you out for a week at least.”

“I'm cutting first period.” Vegeta decided all of the sudden. “Administration isn't going to cut my balls off for missing art class.”

“You just don't wanna’ go to art because  _ I'm  _ not there.” Goku took a certain tone in his voice that made Vegeta feel like spitting for some reason. “You might as well admit that you're secretly in love with me already. Everyone knows it. It’s public information at this point.”

“Fuck out of here.”

“Woah woah, be cool honey bunny.” Goku coughed, which Vegeta was calling bullshit on because he was supposedly out of action on account of his  _ stomach  _ ailment. “Hey, do you know if Bulma’s here today? Can you tell her I'm sick?”

“Bulma.” He said, sucking at his tongue to draw the memory out.  “Cheerleader in a red concord?”

“It was like two nights ago. You remember her, Vegeta.” Goku scoffed. “And it’s an imperial. I don't think she's a cheerleader, either. Yikes. I should know that.”

Patience is a hell of a thing. When you've got it you've got it, and when you don't you never will. His thumb was hot over the end button. His left hand creeping for that pack of sticky sweet bubble gum that dad always made him take. Did it beat out the urge to smoke? No. Was he necessarily trying to quit? Not really. But it was something to do with his mouth. Half the battle of something he wasn’t really trying to fight.

“Are you still there?” A healthy sized pause.

“Uh, yeah.” He popped a piece of gum. “But not for long, because look I  _ really  _ don't have time for you right now.” Vegeta waded across the quad with the hesitance of a mouse in the company of a town full of cats. He could handle bullshitting on the phone with one idiot, but if Krillin or Chiaotzu or whoever the hell decided it was the right time to shoot the breeze, then god help him, Vegeta would not be above punting someone’s freakishly round head over the freshly mown lawn. 

“Well, if you find Bulma could you tell her I’m sorry about not calling her this morning?” Goku said. “She’s my ride, and all. Well, she usually is. I heard her honking this morning but I was too tired to tell her I wasn’t coming down.”

"Yeah, sure.” Vegeta lied, feeling no worse about it than he did about not listening to a single thing Goku had asked him to do. “Sounds like a fuckin’ plan.”

“You promise?”

“Sure, kid.” Vegeta shrugged. “Why not?”

 

Two hours after the phonecall, Vegeta had seen Bulma approximately three times, and not once did he deliver Goku’s message. Their routes to classes intertwined more than he had originally noticed, especially since he was absolutely positive that he had never seen her in his life before the carpool from hell and every level of it.

First, she’d brought a note to his Political Science teacher. Then he’d seen her out on the soccer field. She was in keds and tube socks and she did not look at him at first. And then when she did she was smiling. She might have waved. He looked away before she had the chance.  The third time, she was crossing the third hall in the east wing, talking wildly to some girl, using gestures and faces and all of that crap. She didn’t look at him that time. He didn’t know whether or not she’d saw him. And he didn’t know whether or not he was actively looking for her. 

“Did you tell her yet?”

It was the third hour that Vegeta had spent gnawing at this piece of tattered, flavorless tree sap once called bubblegum. Talking to Goku was reason enough to force another piece into his cheek like a sad little squirrel storing nuts for hard times to come. He sighed. Pried a cigarette from the secret part of his locker while cold turkey laughed hard and fiendishly in his stupid face.

“Yeah, fucko, I told her.” Vegeta snarled. Lied. “Give it up with the calling me during school, okay? I’m tired of it. I’ll see you at practice or not at all.”

“You’re the only one who  _ aaaanswers _ .” Goku whined. “Grandpa forgot about paying the cable bill again. I'm bored.”

“Of course.” Vegeta shut his locker and spun the knob a few times, sticking the cigarette behind his ear for the time being. “Of course the TV’s off. Because why would you waste your time talking to me when you could be cranking your hog to Animaniacs for a few good hours?”

“I do  _ not  _ jack off to Animaniacs.” The hurt in his voice was deep and dark. “You know exactly what I do and don't jack off to. I can't believe you’d even joke about that, Vegeta.”

“Okay, not talking about that one out loud in a populated hallway.” He fell back against the locker and god save his soul, bit the bullet. “How...Christ, I don't care, but how are you feeling?”

“Oh, pretty awful!” Goku chirped. “I betcha I won't be back tomorrow. I'll probably have to make practice, but I don't know. I think the law says that you have to go to school for the full day if you want to participate in after school activities. But what am I supposed to do when there's stomach acid coming out of my nostrils, you know?”

“Probably go to the doctor.” The first bell chimed over mid morning buzz. On the third rung Vegeta gave in, adjusting the straps of his backpack and falling victim to routine. “Get a note. Stop being a child and come fall asleep in class like all the other burnouts.”

“Speaking of the like,” and this promised to be somewhat interesting. “You seen Yamcha yet?”

“Yet?” Vegeta stopped before the east staircase, tucking off into a corner so not to be the guy that stops in the middle of a crowded hall. “Am I wrong or does that imply that I'm supposed to talk to him today?”

“Well,” and he cleared his throat, haughtily, like he was about to spit something real juicy. “In theory you're supposed to talk to your friends every day. But you're a social caveman, so. I don't know. Have you seen him yet?”

“No.” Vegeta said coldly. “Why?”

 

“Because…” Goku hesitated. In the kind of way that made Vegeta feel like he should have been answering this first, or going _ohhh_ _that’s right_. “You kind of took his ex girlfriend out. And she spent the night at your house…”

“Alright, well that is a grossly fucking false accusation.” That definitely shed some light on where all of those weird rumors were crawling out from. “Because if i remember it correctly, I got piccolo’d into caring for you until you died in the guest room and ruined the comforter.”

“Did you just use Piccolo as a verb?” Astonishment, or a cough. “Wow. What does  _ that  _ mean?”

“It means fuck you, Goku!”  Vegeta struggled to whisper. “Fuck you! Stop telling people things about me! You keep my name out of your mouth, you understand? I don’t know her, I have no affiliation with her,  end of statement, do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, captain.” 

“For god's sake, stop calling me things like that.” Vegeta glanced over his shoulder. Once, twice, and a lucky third just to kick the feeling that someone was listening. “Look, I uh, would love to sit here and hate you all day but I gotta’ get to Chem.”

“Right. Good boy.” Said Goku, learning nothing and a half from the last thirty seconds. “See you after school?”

“God I hope not. Have a morning.” When Vegeta hung up, the lower hall was mostly quiet. The stairwell absent of all things but ghosts and smells and fake January warmth that promised to sneak out as soon as someone opened a door.

Maybe it was the phonecall that reminded him how off he felt, tucked here behind the corner of the most irrelevant town on the map. Maybe he’d never forgotten. Maybe it only happened when he was alone. He didn’t know and he didn’t expect himself to. Nobody needs a reason to feel bad. And bad feelings don’t need a reason to find you. 

But he felt it in looking around for more than a few seconds. In the paper names on the wall that he didn’t know. In the patterns in the carpet that he just couldn’t memorize. In everything and everything at all. Saying that he didn’t belong here was cheap, cheap and overused. Nobody belonged there because nobody belongs anywhere. No, it wasn’t that. He just felt out of place. Too out of place. Because some people are a comic book on the nonfiction shelf.

Vegeta felt more like a cabbage on the nonfiction shelf. 

“Dissociating again?” A voice. He sounded like all tall people sound. Deep and airheaded and not all the way there. Maybe that was just Vegeta and his height bias, but the point was that he knew who it was. Didn’t need to turn around to know that he didn’t need this right now.

“Almost.” Vegeta hummed, closely scrutinizing the dirt under his fingernails. “What do you need, Yamcha.”

And he laughed. Small but real, and without anything behind it that might indicate he was upset. Which lead Vegeta to believe that Goku was indeed just blowing smoke to do anything at all. And that would probably be over when the cable was back on. 

Yamcha settled into the scene without permission, fitting perfectly into the corner of the stairwell like he had been destined to do since the first day of Freshman year (though Vegeta wouldn’t have known that).

His hands were never away from his pockets, thumbs hooked into his Levi’s like a TV cowboy with a stupid Leonardo DiCaprio haircut. It worked for him. Everything did. He liked music and everything else in the world that there was to like. He was interesting. Vegeta only hated him half the time.

“Not in Baba’s class today?” Yamcha went for the conversation thing. “Aren’t we dissolving copper today?”

“I’m not touching a goddamn thing that has the propensity to eat through flesh if someone so much as goes ‘whoops’.”

“Had enough acid for now, huh?” 

“Shut the hell up.” Vegeta elbowed Yamcha right in the ribcage, and there was nothing even remotely playful about it. Vegeta wasn’t biting his nails over school or anything, but he sure as hell didn’t want to get kicked out. Let alone force his father into making a  _ second  _ move over concerns of his wellbeing. “Tell the whole board of teachers, why don’t you.”

“Alright, alright, jeez.” Yamcha held his hands up, but the instinct to let sleeping dogs lie didn’t last for long. He was always looking for something to fuck up, as far as Vegeta was concerned. The cigarette Vegeta had forgotten to stash was the target. Yamcha plucked it away like a schoolyard bully.

“This for me?” He held it above Vegeta’s head with a look on his stupid mug that said  _ “oh but if you were juuust a little taller…” _ And Vegeta wasn’t cool-headed enough not to fall for it. Nor would he ever be. He snatched for it and felt six years old as it soared just past his reach, up and up and up. 

“Lay off it, fuckhead.” Vegeta spat, still reaching and violently grasping for it as Yamcha withheld it for him. “Let me be an addict in peace.”

“You don’t even have a lighter, Vegeta.” And  _ damn it _ he was right, but that was Vegeta’s own hurdle to trip over. He had no business assuming things about a guy that he didn’t know any further than he could spit, and he certainly had no business being right about those assumptions. Vegeta quit the struggle abruptly, giving Yamcha a look like sour milk.

“Don’t you have a lab to do? Some sulphuric acid to spill into your lap?”

“Don’t you?” Said Yamcha. 

And he was right about that. And Vegeta had about a million and two things to say about it, half of them being death threats, none of them being worth his time.  _ Yamcha  _ wasn’t worth his time. And the further he bothered him, the more Vegeta began to wish that he  _ had  _ made a move on the supposed crazy ex girlfriend.

Which he had forgotten about until right now. Vegeta didn’t answer Yamcha because he didn’t want to. But in part, it was because he was stuck on a thought. Where had Yamcha come out of like that, and why was he still here? Had he been looking for him? Would Vegeta necessarily care if he was? At least that one had an easy answer.

“C’mon, let’s cut.” Yamcha handed back the cigarette and produced a little metal lighter all of the sudden. With little engravings on it. Ugly. Vegeta scoffed as Yamcha took the liberty to keep talking. “I’ve got a half, you’ve got a half.”

“I’m not making a puzzle with you, idiot.” Vegeta fought. 

“Well it’s a good thing you need more than two pieces to finish a puzzle.” There wasn’t much to be said to that, though Vegeta was close to saying that he would almost rather be working on a puzzle than bullshitting around with Yamcha in the woods for an hour while he complained about his dad and insulted Vegeta’s taste in music. Vegeta bristled accordingly as Yamcha knocked him on the shoulder.

“Come smoke.” He prodded. “There’s more to life than pretending to give a shit about copper pentahydrate.”

“Copper Sulfate.” Vegeta corrected him. 

 

There, in short, wasn’t much more to life. At least not as much as Yamcha might have thought. The ugly truth was that cutting class was barely any more tolerable than sitting through class. The woods that crept around the shoulders of Western Lake High were as cold as they were dry, and about as whimsical as the sole of a soggy old sneaker. These woods were good for smoking in, hiding in. Banging in if you were of that sort, but Vegeta had only ever been in them to skip class with the boys.

And so he found himself, for the second time in one week, out in a dirty forest clearing, missing the city like hell all over again. But it was set up alright out there. There were a few folding chairs, and a big old hunk of some kind of plastic that was usually clean enough to lay down on. Yamcha’s old boombox that he treated with enough disregard to  leave out there. The trees acted like walls, shading such sins as smoking and shooting the breeze during school hours from any staff or students that might have been out on the field. You could see it if you looked hard enough. Nobody ever did.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t listened to The Great Escape.” Yamcha made a  _ tsk tsk  _ noise, popping a CD into the slot as Vegeta got a wicked hunch that he was about to. “It’s been a whole year since it came out and you still haven’t listened to The Great Escape. Fucking tragic.”

Vegeta shrugged.

“I don’t like Blur.”

“But you like Oasis.” Yamcha fought in this haughty big man voice, as if the point he was about to make would at all stand up in court. “If you like britpop, you like Blur. They’re on the same shelf as Oasis. Some of the songs are named the same thing for chrissakes.”

“Who said I liked britpop?” Vegeta droned, relatively more apathetic than Yamcha about this. He motioned for the lighter, and Yamcha tossed it over as the music started. “It’s campy. It’s bouncy and cheesy and ugly, and that’s where Oasis strays from the norm.”

Yamcha looked at him like mortal sin had been committed there on that tired monday.

“Oasis is britpop.” He argued.

“By  _ definition  _ they are.” Vegeta lit the smoke and took a pause to tuck into it. “You’re looking at it like you work at a record store, but you have to look beyond putting things on shelves.”

“Okay.” Yamcha sat up and hit play (jesus christ, it  _ was _ The Great Escape). “So then how do you reckon I should be looking at it, if you’re so smart about these things?”

Vegeta was tired and he was jaded and he didn’t like Yamcha’s tone, so he took an extra go at the cigarette before handing it off to Yamcha. He looked up over the treeline as his shoulders jerked up into an overly animated shrug. He scoffed. The look on Yamcha’s face was more punchable than usual, if at all that were possible.

“You don’t have to look, that’s the thing. It’s music. You look with your ears, dumbass.” Vegeta spat. “If you had never listened to a thing in your life, and I put on, in this order, a Blur song and an Oasis song? You wouldn’t put them in the same category. They’ve got different sounds.”

“They’re different bands, Vegeta.”

“Do you wanna get what I’m saying, or do you wanna keep on pushing away everything I’m saying to you for the sake of being right?” He took back the cigarette, the cold blushing his nose and cheeks now. “Noel Gallagher is a fucking deity, man. You can kick around his brother’s name any day of the week and I won’t give a rat's left cheek, but there is something in Noel Gallagher’s voice that steps beyond cutesy accents and bouncy guitars. There’s heart in it. There’s pain, and there’s a past that for three or four minutes, leaves the grungy old fuck that it belongs to and becomes something beautiful in the time that it takes you to wash your hair.”

Yamcha listened, despite the points and arguments burning on his tongue. But he listened. And he was downright intrigued. 

“Noel Gallagher was born on the bottom of the food chain. And he was born to be used by the system, and he turned around and he made the system his bitch. With  _ music.  _ Most people do that with money. Could you ever crawl to the top using nothing but your bare hands and your voice? Could Blur  _ ever?” _

Yamcha kept his peace.

“That’s what music is about in the end, you know.” Vegeta explained. “If we truly have to make this who vs. who or whatever the fuck, then it isn’t about awards or sales or fancy haircuts. It’s about who came the farthest. It’s about the dirt under your fingernails, and who made it into cash, and who never had any dirt underneath their fingernails in the first place. Fuck record sales.”

Sometimes you know when to stop talking. And Vegeta, it seemed, had never learned that. But Yamcha had. He didn’t fire back or cock his head or laugh. He sighed, and he shook his head, and he clapped, knowing that somehow there was a lot more to this than cool guitar solos and number one songs.

“Okay,” Yamcha said. “Okay.”

“Mhm.” Vegeta mumbled. And that was that, and peace was restored on earth. 

“You are a man of strange passions.”

“Selective passions.”

Yamcha gave up, though he left the album on, and moved over to where Vegeta had set up. He took the cigarette and made clear that he was smoking the rest of it, as Vegeta had been babysitting it for quite long enough now. And they sat like that. For long enough that Vegeta was actually able to close his eyes to a Blur song, which he was never in his life going to hear the end of.

“What’s this one?” He asked suddenly, shocking Yamcha into opening one eye and looking over. 

“ _ He Thought Of Cars _ .” He answered, no hesitation. “Why? You like it?”

“It’s tolerable.”

“Yeah?” Far off, the lunch bell rang. Class was half over. The acid burns had been successfully evaded. “No, it’s a good one. This is a good album. It’s not Modern Life is Rubbish, but it’s good. All of it is good.”

The quiet survived. Vegeta had nothing to say to that, and didn’t feel like pouring himself into another debate when he could be napping for at least a good twenty-five minutes. And it looked for a second like it was going to stay like that. It looked like it.

“Modern Life is Rubbish was Bulma’s favorite album.” Yamcha spoke up. And Vegeta opened his eyes then, all at once. “That’s why she started liking me. I was always into her, but she’d never even looked at me like that until I put the album on in the car one day. We were all on our way to this camping trip we used to go on every year.”

It was sudden. Like the snap of your fingers. The tick of that little hand on the clock. Nobody casually mentions their ex girlfiend. Nobody who’s properly moved on. Nobody who isn’t trying to elicit a reaction, or look for something. In this case, something that wasn’t there. Vegeta looked on in silence because he had absolutely nothing to hide.

“Oh.” He said.

“So take that, Oasis. Right?  Can’t thank Oasis for my first serious girlfriend. That’s Blur’s work. And it worked like a charm.” He chuckled. “I don’t think it’ll ever work like that again.”

“No, probably not.” So what else was he supposed to say to that? Sorry it didn’t work out? I’m not trying to fuck your ex girlfriend so don’t try to pigeonhole me into the blame box? Fuck you, Yamcha? He shifted uncomfortably in his spot. He felt it coming. Like a train.  It was a wonder he hadn’t earlier. 

“Heard she crashed at your place.” Yamcha mentioned ever so casually. And well, there the hell it was. “After the other night?”

“Oh yeah?” Vegeta rolled his eyes. “People love to talk, don’t they?”

“Some might say.”

“I’m no stranger to rumors.” Vegeta reminded him, bordering on severely agitated. “I wouldn’t believe everything you hear in the locker room.”

“Well, between the one about you being a gay vampire and your mother being an ex playmate, I shouldn’t think this one would be too wild to believe.” Yamcha shrugged one shoulder. “The duck one was pretty good, too. What was it? That you ate an entire duck? Live? Everything but the legs and beak, as I heard it.”

“Yeah, well. Keep in mind only one of those is true.”

“Hey. I won’t ask.” Yamcha drummed his hands on his legs, riding out the silence that they weren’t acquainted enough to sit comfortably through. “So. Bulma.”

“Look, Yamcha.” And it turned into one of those conversations, whereas they had had every chance in the world to just make this a casual smoke sesh. Vegeta sighed, and it was as laboured as it was long. “She slept on my couch. She fell into the fucking lake. Goku almost died. And I almost wish he had. It was the least horny I have ever been in my entire life.”

“You talk like I’m accusing you of something.”

“You are. You totally fucking are.” Vegeta fought, absolutely dumbfounded. “Aren’t you?”

“No.” Yamcha snorted. “You’re just being defensive.”

“You bet your ass I’m just being defensive. You sure as  _ hell  _ better not be out here accusing me of something like that after I just shared my last cigarette with you.” He shook his head, looking off in disgust. “And if you  _ were _ , just so you know, I would be inclined to remind you that you’re the one who went and sent me off with her, so the blood is on your hands.”

“The blood is on my hands?” A pause. “And what blood is there to  _ be  _ on my hands, exactly?”

“Oh, this better not be why you brought me out here, Yamcha.”

The woods were quiet then. Even the crows had shut up for a minute to listen in and get the scoop. And the silence indicated one of two things. One, that Vegeta was right, and two, that somebody was about to get hit in the face. He wasn’t sure who. The world is full of endless possibilities, each one more wonderful than the last. Yamcha sniffed at the cold. He was looking off somewhere else. As if this wasn’t his gig entirely.

“Look, I know you’re so far up your own ass that you think nobody could possibly find you up there and want to make nice with you, but you have friends, Vegeta. There isn’t an ulterior motive for everything. Sometimes, in the wild, people like to-And I don’t know if you knew this- hang out?”

“And smoke my cigarettes?”

“Precisely.” 

“Fuck you.” The air seemed to settle somewhat. “I’m not that far up my own ass.”

“Just Noel Gallagher’s, right?” 

And Vegeta turned around to say something. He didn’t have a particular something in mind. But it would be said. Or he thought it would. But when he turned around to look at Yamcha, it felt like he wasn’t the only one with the idea.

Yamcha looked at Vegeta. And there was something about his face.  _ Things  _ in the way he was looking at him that indicated this was not going to end well. Vegeta hadn’t hit anyone in a long time. Especially not for just looking at him weird. But time, people say, changes everything. And it bleaches your knuckles white, and bites down at your tongue.

_ This guy _ , Vegeta thought, _ thinks I’m fucking his ex girlfriend.  _ And there was nothing that he could do about it.

“I have to pee.” Vegeta stood up to move off, and he was sure, so absolutely fucking positive that right before he did, Yamcha had moved to try and kill him. And it was a good thing he hadn’t. Vegeta was not above putting someone in the ground for one interaction gone wrong. There was a first time for everything.

“I’m not fucking your girlfriend, Yamcha.” He huffed, pushing the firs aside to find the trail. Yamcha didn’t follow him. But he didn’t leave it alone, either.

“So you’ve said!!” Yamcha called, as Vegeta mentally decided to not hang out with him ever again, or anyone from Goku’s little squad on that notion. Even long after he had left the clearing, the music went on. And on still, until Vegeta was too far away to hear it. He left the edge of the trees, safe in the knowledge that he would never again willingly listen to a Blur song.

But the year was young, wasn't it?  



	5. If I Could Talk I’d Tell You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but here it is!! Enjoy!

 

It hadn’t rained this much in West City in years. Something about the air felt off, and Bulma found it gloomy everytime she woke up. Like the balance was off, or like the something was coming. Something important. Her eyes trailed to the outside of the passenger seat window where rain fell and the white street markers blurred into solid lines as the car sped down the highway. Chichi was driving. She hadn’t said much, which was unlike her.

“Y’know,” Chichi began, causing Bulma to turn her attention towards her friend who was talking. “We never really talked about that party. That’s not like us, Bulma.” And Chichi wasn’t wrong. They were your average teenage girl best friends. For them to not talk about that party was like seeing dogs stay quiet when someone knocked on the door. Impossible.

“Huh, y’know, I guess we didn’t.” Bulma chuckled, surprised that she hadn’t said anything. Yet, what could she have said? ‘I went on a midnight adventure with the scariest kid in school and had an awesome time’. Perfect, that didn’t sound weird. It was that and the mix of the fact that she had only recently broken up with Yamcha. And she knew he still wasn’t taking it as well as she had wished.

“So, picking up Goku? What happened with that? I mean, you had to hang out with Vegeta. I don’t exactly see that as the most fun experience in the world. So, what happened?” She pressed, to which Bulma did not appreciate.

“We herded Goku back to Vegeta’s place and put him to bed. Nothing too special. We hung out at the pond for a bit.” Bulma immediately regretted saying that when she saw Chichi break out into a smile.

“Ah, you hung out at the pond, eh?”

“Yeah, the pond.”

“Y’know, Vegeta doesn’t really ‘hang out’ with people. “

“I’m sure it’s nothing different.” Bulma assured her. “I vote we just leave it at that.” She had to get this conversation flipped back to Chichi.

Chichi just smirked. “No problem. Leaving it.” She looked at Bulma for only a second. “Hey, don’t forget to remind me to stop in Zoomies while we’re at the mall. Some kind of sale.” This was Chichi’s way of shaking things up. “Kay?”

“Yeah sure.” As they pulled into the parking lot, they ventured inside the glass doors to roam the mall. And there were many stops. Anything from candy shops to clothing stores, they stopped in. And it wasn’t until a good hour and a half had passed when Chichi nudged Bulma.

 “Hey, don’t forget, Zoomies. You were supposed to remind me.” She laughed, grabbing Bulma by her arm to drag her to the store.

“Since when do you like skater shops?”

“Since Goku said he liked girls who have penny boards.”

“I doubt he said that.”

“Shut up. Come on.” Chichi ended the conversation as they got to the shop. As they walked, up, Chichi gasped. “Oh no! My wallets in the bathroom! I left it.” She let go of Bulma. “Here, go in and look around while I go get it!”

Bulma shrugged and walked in, taking a look at all the things she knew she’d never catch herself caught dead wearing.

Meanwhile,

“I’ve been working open to close the last three days, and you expect me to do it again?” Vegeta spat angrily.

“Gotta’ work with business needs. Sorry kid.” Didoria, his manager decided to drop that bomb on him, leaving Vegeta pissed off for the rest of his shift. This wasn’t even a job he liked doing. None of what he did was even remotely close to interesting.

It had been a week since Vegeta met Bulma. The week itself wasn’t very interesting though. Filled with nights smoking pot in Yamcha’s basement and cutting class, Filled with Goku buggin Vegeta about meaningless shit, and more importantly, filled with Vegeta and his shit job.

“Go stock the damn penny boards and quit sitting around on your ass.” Didoria finished as he left the back room. “I’m going on lunch.”

Yes, Vegeta worked at Zoomies. It was a step up from when he worked at the phone store. But also the most obnoxious job he’d ever had. The amount of ratty teenage boys bothering him every day was not even countable anymore. That was 99% of his customer base. He left the backroom, and upon looking out into the store, he stopped, his eyes wide.

Apparently that last 1% was Bulma Briefs.

They say that when you’re faced with surprise, you can go into this fight or flight mode. The Vegeta that everyone knew was always fight fight fight. Had never even heard of flight. Until now at least. And so he went behind the penny boards and began to stock them quiet as a mouse as she looked aimlessly around the store.

 “Excuse me!” He heard a shrill voice from the other side of the store, waving him down. He cursed under his breath and walked over swiftly to keep out of Bulma’s eyesight. Now would have  been a perfect time to have better staffing. It was inevitable. She saw him.

“Yeah. What do you want?” He asked, very easily annoyed at this point.

“I bought a skateboard here last week and it turns out it’s a longboard! I need to exchange this.” The short and angry brunette said with crossed arms and a longboard behind her leaning against a display case. He grabbed it up and took her to the counter. Once the bothersome exchange was done, she walked out, and Bulma finally locked eyes with him.

She saw him when he walked out of the back room. She should have just left. But something inside compelled her to stay. So she did. “A couple girls stole some of those jackets on that rack there.” Of course. What a wonderful conversation starter. “Um, I didn’t know you worked here.” Bulma felt sweat on the back of her neck as she pretended to be unbothered by this awkward encounter.

“I’ve given up on trying to stop them. They probably need it.” Vegeta responded, his hands resting on the counter to hold himself up. He looked around as inconspicuous as he could in case anyone they knew was around. This wouldn’t exactly look good for Vegeta’s ‘I’m not fucking your ex, Yamcha’ claim.

‘Guilty until proven innocent!’ He could practically hear Yamcha passive aggressively comment in his head. “It’s not really my ideal place of work. But what else would I do? Sell soft pretzels in the food court wearing a horrendous red and white striped get up? That shit looks like some mockery from the 50’s spit it up.”  

“I’m assuming you’re very judgemental of it because you didn’t get the job there so you had to come work at Zoomies?” Bulma asked nonchalantly, leaning against the counter.

“I’ll admit nothing like that.” He responded. “Why are you here, anyways? Don’t girls like you usually travel in packs?” One more glance around for good measure before he pushed off the counter to continue stocking the penny boards. “This store doesn’t really strike me as Bulma style.” He said in gesture to her current get-up that involved a colorful bold patterned mini skirt.

“Oh, I was just-” It took a second to formulate her excuse. “I was just looking to… expand my style horizons!” She answered.

“I hope you realize that everything in here has some kind of reference to drugs. And every single item has cheap flames on it. I can guarantee it.” He held his left elbow out to display a tiny flame on his shirt. “Everything.”

“Yeah, of course I know that.” She lied, pretending like she was paying attention to the racks of clothes in front of her. “So.” She attempted to change the subject. “Goku’s birthday party is next weekend.” She wished Chichi was there to save her.

“So it is.” He actually had absolutely no idea about it until she said something about it. “I wasn’t planning on making an appearance.”

 “Neither was I.” Her response kind of caught him off guard for a minute, mainly because Goku was always on about this girl. His eyes watched her run a hand through that bright hair, but then he moved his attention back to her words. “But I have to be there to make Goku happy, I guess.”

“What a good friend.”

“You should come!” She said quicker than she should have, mentally scolding herself for sounding too excited.

He raised a brow. “And why’s that?”

“Well, I’ll need -someone- to talk to while Goku and Chichi are swapping spit in the corner. And Yamcha is 99% going to be there. And he’s, well, Yamcha.”

“So I’m your buffer. I understand now.” He wasn’t offended, not one bit. But he could always joke about being less unbothered than he actually was. “I’ll go.” He said after sometime. “Probably. Buuut…” He turned to the women’s rack and pulled a shirt off of it, tossing it on the counter. A long sleeve black shirt covered in flames.

“Don’t you dare.” Bulma narrowed her eyes as she looked at the garbage piece of clothing. “Don’t say it.”

“Oh I will.” He said with amusement. “I will absolutely say it.”  The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. “I’ll go if you wear this.” Vegeta was going to go anyways, as much as he said he wouldn’t, but he had a naturally aloof attitude he had to keep up.

“Vegeta.” She said with pleading words. “I will absolutely not wear that. Please don’t challenge me like this. I would not be caught dead in this.”

“I’ll even make it on the house. Consider this your first step in broadening your style horizon.”

“I hate you.” She giggled, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her jacket. She snatched up the shirt from the counter and spotted Chichi at the entrance of the mall. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Vegeta accidentally obviously watched her walk out of the store, distracted by her curves before he shook his head and got back to working. He had a feeling Didoria wasn’t coming back that day.

\----

“Wow Bulma. You look…” Chichi attempted to gather her words. “I can’t lie. You look horrible. What is that shirt?” She said as she brushed through her black locks, pulling it back into a ponytail as she started her makeup. “It’s -so- not you.”

“I know! That’s- uh… That’s the point! I’m just experimenting.” Bulma cursed Vegeta in her mind as she set down her straightener, giving her hair a spritz of hairspray, happy with the relaxed down look she was going for. “I wanted to wear it with that red miniskirt I have. The skirt really… makes the flames on it just -pop-.”

“That they do.” Chichi laughed. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Vegeta? Cause it kinda looks like something from Zoomies.” She went back to doing her makeup when Bulma gave no response. “Goku better kiss me tonight. Or I’ll be so pissed. He keeps getting too drunk.”

“I’m sure you’ll have your fun. Just don’t go have too much fun. No getting pregnant before high school ends.” Bulma warned her, giving a small smile as she she packed shimmery eyeshadow onto her lids. “Maybe I’ll get my rebound tonight.” She shrugged, adding mascara onto her lashes. The thought hadn’t occurred to her until then that she had an idea as to who would be her rebound. And a certain spiky haired guy came to mind.

“Oh, no. Don’t even think about it.” Chichi said.

“Think about what?”

“Vegeta! I know you were thinking of him. Listen. I bet he’s nice and all. Sometimes… But I’ve heard some not so great things about him. Did you know people think he’s a gay vampire? Or the one about his mom being an ex playmate. I also hear he drank an entire bottle of whiskey during our lunch period once. But have you heard the one about the duck?!” She rambled. “I hear he ate everything except for the-”

“Enough!” Bulma threw the lip liner on the counter. “Listen, I know. He’s weird. But maybe I just need a little weird in my life right now!” She sat on the end of Chichi’s bed. “It’s just, Yamcha got so… predictable. Maybe I just need something fun, and not serious. Something unexpected.” She looked the other way and twiddled her thumbs. “Besides, he seems decently nice… I guess.”

Chichi snorted. “Oh yeah, absolutely. He’s a fucking saint.”

Elsewhere…

“That shirt’s ugly.” Vegeta said dryly as he drove through the neighborhood towards Roshi’s house. Luckily he was always out of town on business, or that group wouldn’t have half the parties that they did. “And you look stupid in it.”

“I know.” Krillin responded with defeat. “I thought it would go with the shoes, okay? I wanted to impress that girl from math class with my dance moves.”

“Wow.” Vegeta said. “Well, I’m sure you’ll do great. Especially in that god awful shirt.” He turned up the radio of his Jeep to drown out Krillin’s response as they pulled up to the house.

They were about an hour after expected time, since they had had to drive all the way back to Krillin’s house to get a new shirt. They stood at the door as Vegeta looked at his new choosing. “So I’ve been practicing this new move. Tien and I have really perfected the-”

“You had a second chance to redeem yourself, and you chose -that-? You look stupid. And stop talking about dancing.” Vegeta got aggressive when he was nervous. “You should just go home.”

Krillin crossed his arms and sighed. “Maybe I should. But you don’t look any better, asshole! I mean, flannels at a PARTY?! ” As he said that, the door swung open, an obviously drunk Goku pulling them inside.

“You guys made it!” He slurred.  

“Are you sure I look okay?” Bulma asked, running a hand through her hair as she looked around the party’s current guests.

“Yes! Everyone knows you look hot. Just keep that jacket on. The shirt doesn’t look any better. Maybe after I have a few shots.” Chichi responded with a giggle. “There’s the birthday boy in the flesh!” She flagged Goku down and he came hustling over, leaving Krillin and Vegeta at the entrance.

“You made it!” Goku hugged Chichi excitedly and then did the same to Bulma.

“Yup, who could miss your entrance into your late teenage years? You’re one step closer to 18!” Bulma said, offering a drink to Goku. “The punch is awesome.”

Goku took it happily and stole Chichi away to go and dance. Bulma was invited, but she took the initiative to look for Vegeta. At least, she didn’t tell anyone that’s who she was looking for.

“Guess who…” Bulma, at the other end of the house near the kitchen, felt hands cover her eyes. She turned and came face to face with Yamcha. He looked drunk. So, he basically looked the same as usual. “Didn’t know if you were gonna’ make it!”

Bulma shrugged in response and sipped at her drink, tapping her foot to the music. “Yeah! Had to come and wish Goku a happy birthday. I haven’t exactly been doing much anyways.”

 Vegeta walked through the party as Krillin danced off somewhere to the obnoxiously loud  NWA music. As he rounded a corner near where he heard a female voice. “How have you been?” It was Bulma. Talking to Yamcha. He was close to her. She probably had just come here for him. Vegeta got out of sight and made his way towards another crowd as he kept an eye to see if Yamcha would leave.

 "Alright." He said, but it was empty in the sense that it may not have been totally true. He looked tired. That was the extent of it. He looked her up and down. He hadn’t changed a bit. "You look brutal. The good kind. New top?"

Vegeta made unwilling talk with Chaozu at the keg. It was boring, monotonous, and all he wanted to talk about was his ska punk band, which Vegeta openly didn't care about. The pace changed up a bit when someone came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. A chick, that he knew by the perfume and the fingernail. And part of him thought, just for a second....  
  
"Hey, you!" It was Launch. Her hair was bleached again, and for some odd reason he could tell that she was on the spiky end of her weird mood swings. "Didn't know you'd be coming after LAST time!"  
  
He looked, and out of the corner of his eye, she was still with him.  
  
Fine. Cool.

“Listen. I’m gonna’ hit the keg. I’ll see ya around, friend.” Bulma said quickly once Vegeta came into sight. He had finally showed up. She ruffled Yamcha’s hair and walked off.

“Y-Yeah sure! See ya.” Yamcha said more to himself, since Bulma had stopped listening and left already. “Ouch.” He said quietly.

 Bulma stopped when she noticed Vegeta talking to Launch. And it looked like Launch was flirting as usual. Tien wasn’t exactly the type to give her a ton of affection, so she normally gravitated to others when she wasn’t sober.

 She talked to him about something. What, he couldn't really tell, but she talked about it for several minutes and he couldn't get a word in edgewise. She was drunk, that he gathered very quickly. Which was weird because it wasn't even that late, but she had some stuff going on, and he wasn't one to judge. Vegeta sipped at his beer as she, in every sense of the word, tried something.  
"Can I just-...Can I touch your hair? It's so spiky, what is that?" She said, touching it before he could answer, and moving uncomfortably down to his neck.  
  
"Gravity." He said, and "accidentally" spilled his drink down her shirt as she tried to move in a little closer. "Oh yikes, how did that happen? Gee, I'm sorry, let me just-"  
  
But she had already stormed off to clean herself up, and he was sure he would hear about this from Tien later, but it was worth it for the laughs.

 “You’re not convincing, Buddy.” Bulma laughed as she finally approached, a hand on her hip and her other hand holding a cup of some kind of Kahlua mixture. If it tasted good and got her drunk, she was okay with it. But she luckily was more close to the sober end of the spectrum. “You cleaned up well.”

 Vegeta saw Yamcha before he ever saw Bulma approaching him. He was pissed off and she wasn't around him anymore, so that must have meant that things weren't going so well for him.  
  
And then he saw her. And that was kind of it for the tough guy act.  
  
"Not like she'll remember it tomorrow. I've done that to her more than once."  
  
He sipped at his drink. She looked good when she wasn't head to toe covered in lake water. Then again, she hadn't looked bad then either.  
  
"Yeah? You too." He said. Maybe a compliment. "Try hard. Nice shirt by the way.” She had actually worn that damn shirt. “I didn’t think you’d wear it.”

 “Well, I can be unpredictable, this you should know about me.” As she spoke, she wandered to the nearby punch bowl and scooped a cup full, handing it to him. “The punch is pretty good.”

He sniffed at it instinctively. Pink and cold. Looked like his type of thing, though he'd scarcely be caught admitting that.  
  
"Bottoms up. Hope you didn't put fucking acid in this." He drank it and was pleasantly surprised to find that here was more alcohol in it than he could smell. He hadn't come here to be sober.  
  
"Pretty terrible." He said nonchalantly, drinking up as they watched Chiaotzu gasp for precious air as he finished his keg stand. "The good days are terrible there. You have no idea how many 13 year olds I have confiscated weed from. Half of it is oregano. My dad is half italian, so at least he has a use for it."

 “That must be where you get your good looks from. I dig italian dudes. You’re cute, but with a weird unconventional ‘I sell oregano to teens and tell them it’s weed’ vibe to you. Was I on the nose?” Normal confident Bulma was not shy to giving compliments like that to people, yet the way she was with Vegeta was not the normal outrageous girl, so the comment was a bit too bold for their conversation. She tried to backtrack. “That was weird, heh. Sorry, Must be the alcohol.”

 "Haven't you heard? I sell them real weed, but it's laced with coke. That way they keep coming back." They watched as someone carried Chiaotzu off into a back room. The keg was open, but Vegeta wasn't interested right now, so Krillin and his weird half-girlfriend took over.  
  
The cute thing he hadn't been expecting. Girls called him cute from time to time. He was. He knew that. But it just hadn't been for a long time that it had caught him off guard. He wasn't completely sure what to do.  
  
"I am cute." He said, and felt the need to avert his words before he said something stupid. "Guess it's easier to tell when I'm not shrouded in moonlight and vomit. But the night is young."  
  
No. Still stupid.

 The night wore on, and Bulma eventually found herself just clinging nearby Vegeta. With everyone else getting hammered and making out with each other, it wasn’t super appealing to hang out with those people. She definitely wasn’t drunk enough.

Roshi would totally yell at her for stealing his box wine, but she didn’t care as she sat out on the porch with Vegeta as everyone gathered around to watch Krillin and Tien have a dance contest.

“Drink and a show. How classy.” Vegeta joked, pouring some of the wine into his cup as he pulled out a cig from behind his ear, placing it between his lips. He handed her one too. “Do you smoke?”

She smirked. “No.” As she took it anyways. “But it’s been a long couple months.” He lit it for her and they sat in comfortable silence, watching Krillin get alcohol on his shirt. They made small talk for a bit.

"Hey, look." He pointed his finger to a dark corner where Goku was in fact, getting that kiss. "He did it. That son of a bitch."

 Bulma laughed and gave a small clap as she drank more from her cup. “Good for them. Chichi would have had a cow if he didn’t make an advance.” Buzzed Bulma watched the scene and looked around. “You should feel lucky, buddy! I haven’t really talked to anyone else here tonight. You get to spend all this lovely time with me.”

 "Hey, you can go whenever you want. Maybe you're the lucky one. Thought of that?" He stepped on his cigarette to put it out as she did the same.  
  
It was one of those times. Where your legs are awkwardly touching, and the blanket is too small to share but nobody cares. Where both of you know something is up. He wasn't blatantly familiar with it. But he knew that he felt weird. And the weirdest thing about that was that he was finally able to pinpoint why.  
  
"All the time in the world." He said, offering her the spitty end of a bottle of Roshi's most disgusting pink moscato. "Just don't throw up in my car."  
  
He looked at her again. Thought about doing something. Turned his head.

She had noticed the leg touch as soon as it happened, and when he spoke, she just calmly listened. Because he had a weird power with his words that made her shut up. She didn’t shut up often. “Maybe we’re just… pretty lucky I guess. Ever thought of that?” She watched him set a hand down on top of hers.

She was already looking at him, so getting her attention wasn’t the problem. It was making the move. “Nope. You’re the lucky one.” He quietly challenged as he moved a litle closer. He was okay with the taste of pink moscato. All he wanted was to kiss her at that moment.

He hadn’t had many times like this, so naturally he wasn’t sure how to really ask. Or if he was supposed to ask. “Hey…” He said, which was an odd way to start, but it was a start.

She took the hint and he leaned in. But before she could do the same, she was pulled back by an arm.

“You.” It was Yamcha, pulling Bulma to her feet. “I need to talk to you.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” She swatted his hand off her and adjusted her skirt. “Can you not see I’m busy at the moment?” Yamcha pulled her back inside before Vegeta could even react.

“Vegeta? Seriously? That’s an asshole revenge tactic if I’ve ever seen one. What the hell is up with that?” Yamcha hiccupped. Obviously wasted. “You don’t know him. You don’t know the shit he’s done. 

“Quit talking about these rumors! It’s all anyone cares about. Excuse me for trying to enjoy my time and get to know new people! I’m tired of you trying to get involved in my business. This isn’t ‘us’ Yamcha. This is me.” She bit back, crossing her arms.

“I’m not stepping on shit! I’m just looking out for you! We’re supposed to be friends, Bulma.”

Elsewhere, Vegeta was sipping at something out of a red cup, standing up now. Kind of pretty pissed off to think that he had tried to pull that off, and now he had to awkwardly marinate in the silence of it.  
  
C'est la fucking vie, he guessed.

“Yeah, well maybe friends just isn’t going to work right now. Just leave my business alone.” She spat, walking off to return to a now awkward silence.

Yamcha blew by into a back room. Nobody went after him. It was fine. He was just tired. Had a temper lately. Nobody really thought anything of it.  
  
Outside, Vegeta was finishing the cigarette that he had killed in favor of her. Feeling like an idiot for it. But hey. That was life. Not like he had expected anymore.  
  
But then she was back. And he was quiet for a moment because he was very unsure if she was into this or just kind of being nice. He took another puff at it, and nodded as she returned. The stomach ache was back. “Hey.” He said as she didn’t sit. Her coat was on. “How was that?”

“It was fantastic.” She said with a hint of frustration in her voice. Her mood was killed. She looked at the people dancing and drinking, and then to Vegeta. “I’m sorry, that was weird.”

“It’s fine.” Vegeta replied.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him lately. He’s changed so much. Ever since he didn’t get that basketball scholarship.” It was definitely something that had developed since that. The drinking. The drugs. The parties. It wasn’t healthy.

“He’s a stubborn teenaged boy. We’re all like that sometimes.” Vegeta spoke up, handing her his cup to drink from. She took a sip gratefully and handed it back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m okay, I just- I don’t know.” She rubbed at her head and looked down at the porch. An idea came to mind. “Hey.” She snatched up his jacket and handed it to him. “Let’s get outta’ here. Let’s go back to the lake. It’ll be fun.”

He wasn’t sober, she wasn’t sober, nobody should have been driving, but no part of him really cared at that moment. He looked at Krillin. He was supposed to be his ride, but he also didn’t care in the fucking slightest.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”


End file.
